


You're Mine

by killjoy_assbutt



Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [2]
Category: Henry Cavill - Fandom, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Geralt of Rivia smut, Smut, geralt of rivia x reader smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_assbutt/pseuds/killjoy_assbutt
Summary: Anon requested: Someone gets too handsy, which results in “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna forget you ever met that asshole” with Geralt.Summary: Geralt fucks you hard for letting another man touch you. Lil fluff at the end.Warnings: smut (obviously), dom/sub, MaleDom/FemSub, possessive behaviour, jealousy, foul language, spanking, lots of teasing, fingering, edging, begging, manhandling, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slight sizekinkIf you are uncomfortable with any for this, do not readunbeta'd, all typos are minePairing: Geralt x 1st person readerEnjoy❤️ Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated💕
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051982
Kudos: 85





	You're Mine

The tavern is packed, as usual in the evening. No matter where we go, it’s always the same. As if the people have nothing better to do than get drunk off their asses.

And, as usual, my companions leave me alone to deal with the drunk mob on my own. Geralt disappeared into the far corner of the room the moment we stepped a foot into the tavern. Jaskier… well, the bard unpacked his lute and started performing, the drunken cheers getting louder with every pint that’s passed over the counter.

That’s where I’m standing now, leaning against the bar with a tankard in my hand, sipping on the cool, golden liquid from time to time while watching my friend entertain the mob. A wide grin stretches on my face as he starts strumming the song he’s most famous for. With a quick to the far corner, I catch the Witcher roll his eyes. I can’t help but snicker at that. He catches my gaze across the room for just a second, and then quickly adverts his eyes.

Ouch.

He’s been acting weird lately, talking to me only when absolutely necessary and glaring at me, if he looks at me at all, that is. He’s never been the warmest of people, for sure but now… I don’t know why he’s acting like that. He’s always been distant, but never was he rude. Well, until now. And it wasn’t just because the last few jobs were a bitch to work through and brought only little coin. No, it’s something personal, but I never did anything to him.

When I met him and the bard three months ago – saved their asses when they were fighting a pack of werewolves (arrows with silver points, quite costly, but quite effective) – he had almost begged me to come with them, to play bodyguard for our dear bard. Well, begged may be an exaggeration, but he wanted me to join their little trio of Witcher, bard and horse. _You can come with us if you please. To keep an eye on the bard,_ were his exact words, but his eyes begged me to take Jaskier off his hands. How could I say no to that?

But recently, he kept me at arm’s length. I had asked Jaskier about it, but he had been little help. _You should know by now that he’s a grump,_ he had shrugged.

But despite all this, I found myself catching feelings for the White Wolf. That’s why it hurts even more that he more or less ignores my entire existence.

Not long before a man squeezes himself to the counter next to me, leaning against it with the grace of a man who’s had more to drink than just to quench his thirst. I size him up with a glance. He’s tall, muscular and quite handsome; scars on his exposed forearms give away he’s a smith.

By now I’m desperate to get some – travelling with the Witcher has that effect on you – and I don’t see him making a move any time soon, so I might as well give the young smith a chance. Turning to face him, I give him a charming smile.

“What is a beautiful girl like you doing here all alone?” he flirts. Okay, maybe he isn’t as drunk as I first thought.

“What makes you think I’m alone?” I tease him.

“Well,” he shrugs, “Any man would be stupid to leave you standing here by yourself.” He lets his eyes wander over my body. “Especially when you’re dressed like that.”

Oh, yeah. Travelling the wilderness, dresses have proven themselves to be quite impractical, so I’ve switched to trousers, blouses and corsets, that by the way, highlight certain assets of mine.

I grin. “Well. What can I say… my husband’s an idiot,” I exaggerate a sigh and watch the colour drain from the smith’s face. “Kidding!” I laugh then, a breath of relief leaving the man as he covers my hand that has been resting on the bar with a warm palm. His intentions are clear, even more so when he lets his hand slide to my wrist, tracing slow patterns on my skin. I just give him a smirk and take a sip of my ale; this is all playing out to my favour.

“I’m Kack, by the way,” the man offers with a hungry smile, eyes already clouded with lust as they stare not into mine but the exposed top of my breast peeking out from the deep cleavage of my blouse. Men… “And your name, beautiful?”

“Mhh, beautiful is fine,” I hum, peering at him through my lashes. Kack smiles at that, but says nothing. Instead, he lets his hand slide further up my arm ever so gently, and I bite my lip.

He sets his pint down to the counter, his free hand coming up to grab my waist, pulling me towards him. A bold action, yes, but a very welcome one. Still, I squeal slightly in surprise, making him believe he’s conquering me.

I take a quick glance over his shoulder, only to find Geralt staring at us, scowling. Wow, somebody looks pissed…

I’m so focused on the Witcher that I don’t realize at first that Kack’s hand has by now reached my shoulder, playing with my hair. Only when a brave hand squeezes my behind, I snap my focus back to him with a gasp, watching how his eyes follow his fingers tracing along my collarbone.

“Do you want to get out of here,” he whispers, leaning in, hand dropping to the side of my ribcage, dangerously close to my breast, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His touch sends a small shiver down my spine and I bite my lip.

But before I can answer, a low growl rips through the tavern-cheer, making me jump slightly in surprise and take a step back from Kack.

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” the Witcher grunts. I just glare at him and clench my jaw, irritated.

“I-I thought you said you were alone?” Kack stammers, eyes wide with shock at the sight of the Witcher, broad and tall, dwarfing even the already large young smith.

“I am,” I hiss.

“Watch your tone,” he growls, and grabs my arm, “You’re coming with me.” Dragging me off to the stairs.

Once we’re out of sight, he pins me to the wall, his face dangerously close to mine, so close I can taste that anger radiating off him.

“You think you can just run around, flirting with other man. I bet you liked his hands all over you,” he hisses and I just shrug, “You’re mine.”

“I’m wha-” but before I can finish my sentence, he throws me over his shoulder, stomping up the stairs and into his room. Inside, he sets me down and pins me against the door, crushing his lips on mine in a punishing kiss, all tongue and teeth, that shouldn’t make my heart flutter as much as it does. He only pulls back when I’m close to passing out from the lack of air.

“You were ready to let this guy fuck you, hmm?” he growls while I pant for air, my head spinning too much to answer verbally, so I nod. “You belong to me, girl,” the Witcher hisses into my ear.

An involuntary moan slips from my lips, causing the beast of a man towering over me to smirk darkly. “Oh, but that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted me to get jealous so I fuck you real hard, didn’t you?”

“It-it was worth a try,” I pant weakly, head still spinning, “You’ve been ignoring me,” I try to explain. With a grunt, Geralt takes a step back.

“Undress,” he orders. Quickly, I unlace my corset, nimble fingers working the strings, letting the steel boned leather drop to the floor. Next goes my blouse, revealing my bare chest to the Witcher’s hungry stare. I pause for a moment, watching how his tongue flicks over his bottom lip, only to have him hiss at me. “I’ll tell you when to stop!”

Startled, I move to peel the tight leather from my legs, kicking off my boots as I go. Now I’m standing here, bare in front of the towering Witcher, trapped against the locked door. It would be a lie to say that I’m not a little scared – or at least intimidated – by the way he’s staring at me, amber irises reduces to thin rings around lust-blown pupils. If I didn’t know him for as long as I do, I would have thought he had taken one of his potions, so dark are his eyes.

“All mine,” he growls as he closes the distance between us, teeth and tongue marking at my neck, hands gripping my hips tight enough to leave bruises. My eyes flutter shut and I let out a moan at his assault. Fuck! This is so much better than I could ever imagine.

“You weren’t wet for him, Geralt muses, ghosting his lips along my jaw, their tough teasing, making me want to beg for more, “But you’re wet for me.”

A mewl escapes me.

“Don’t even try denying it,” the beast growls right into my ear, teeth tugging on the lobe, “I can smell your sweet little cunt, and how it’s dripping for me.”

And if those words didn’t cause a new wave of arousal to wash through my core, dripping onto the insides of my thighs.

“Fuck, you smell so sweet, little girl. And it’s all for me. Your sweet cunt, all mine.” His husky voice is so incredibly close to my ear and I shudder, a shaky moan slipping past my lips. A moan that’s only drawn out when his hands leave my hips and find my aching breasts instead, kneading them roughly. I open my eyes to peer at Geralt, seeing him staring with dark fascination at how my nipples harden under his touch almost instantly, tweaked between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, this time meeting my eyes and staring at me, menacing, daring me to refuse.

But I won’t. I have been dreaming for this moment for the past three months.

“Yours,” I breath in confirmation, the only thought I’m able to muster – I belong to him.

“Then why were you about to let this asshole fuck you, hm?” the Witcher demands, anger painting his face, along with something I cannot fathom.

“I…” I swallow, trying hard to concentrate, “You’ve been ignoring me. I was just trying to get your attention. I … I want you. Fuck! I’ve wanted you the moment we met.”

A deep guttural groan comes from the Witcher. Primal and animalistic. With a surge of confidence rushing through me, I lean forwards and crash my lips on Geralt’s, throwing my arms around his neck to pull him further down. He kisses back roughly, pressing me flush against the door, invading my mouth, fighting my tongue with his, unrelenting until I give up defying him, letting him explore my hot cavern, stealing my breath.

With my hands on his back, I start tugging at the hem of his tunic, slowly but surely balling up the soft worn fabric, until the Witcher pulls back with a grunt, quickly discarding of the piece of clothing. And what a sight for sore eyes he is! I’ve seen him both shirtless and naked – the latter only from behind – a few times, something that happens when you’re on the road together. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not amazed by the god standing in front of me now. My jaw drops as I take him in in the golden light of the fireplace. Large arms, strong, hard pecks and very defined abs, dusted in a dark layer of thick curls have me gaping and nearly drooling. My fingers itch to run through his hair, lips tingle to kiss every inch of his scarred skin, yearning to show him the love he deserves. And I’m tempted, nearly desperate to lick every ridge of his muscular torso, mostly so the prominent V-line leading down to his treasure, straining hard and large against his tight trousers.

I take a brave step forwards, my hands coming up to Geralt’s shoulders, inching lower, my nails scraping down his pecs and abs as I lower myself to my knees, peering up at him through my lashes. As much as I want to lick and tease him on my way down, I doubt he’d let me. On my knees, I start unbuttoning his trousers, a low growl erupting from the beast’s chest above me.

Before I know it, I am pulled up roughly and bent over the table, ass and glistening folds presented to the Witcher. A gasp escapes me as the hard surface punches the air from my lungs. I can feel the heat radiate off Geralt when he leans forwards, easily covering my back with his broad chest. His hot breath fans over my neck when he speaks in a growled whisper, dwarfing both my body and my mind; I’m no match for him, I realize that in this exact moment.

“Oh no, little one. You don’t get to do that. I’m the one in control. You’re just a bad girl in dire need of punishment, aren’t you? And you’ve been bad, letting another man touch you like that. I’m gonna take my time with you, girl, get you all desperate and needy for me. I’ll show you who you belong to.”

I whimper at his words, swallowing hard. “Y-you never showed interest. Never even showed the slightest intention to claim me.”

A sharp slap echoes through the silence of the room, pulling another whimper from my lips.

“I’m doing… it now,” comes a growled response, followed by another four hard spanks against my bottom. I yelp in pain, but the pain also shoots right to my core, slicking up my thighs with another wave of arousal. The room is quiet for a second, but if feels like an hour. Then, the sound of heavy boots being kicked off and trousers hitting the floor fills the room.

And again, silence follows. My whole body trembles in anticipation, anxiously waiting for Geralt’s next move. After a few excruciating long seconds, a hands comes up to my swollen pussy, playing with my dripping petals almost tentatively. A calloused finger slides along my slit all the way to my throbbing clit. But before he touches the hidden pearl, he pulls his hand back. I can hear him sucking on his finger behind me, humming low with the taste of my juices. Whimpering at the loss of contact, I squirm my hips against the table, the need within me growing. Every second that passes is a new level of torture.

I jolt against the table in surprise and slight pain as Geralt plunges a finger knuckle-deep into my heat, stretching me with only one of his long and thick digits.

“Shit,” I hiss, rocking my hips back in need for some friction, my nails digging into the wood of the table.

“Stay still,” Geralt scolds, leaning over me, breath fanning over my neck as his hardness presses up against my bottom. I mewl, trying hard to stay still, but the way he feels pressed against me, large in both length and girth, hot and pulsing, make it difficult. But I manage to stay put.

And I am rewarded with a second finger that pushes into me, staring to stretch me out to suit his needs. A delicious burn rips through my lower body.

“Geralt,” I moan loudly, gripping the edge of the table so tight my knuckles turn white.

“So fucking tight. Good girl,” he groans into my ear, “And so wet. You’ll feel so good stretched around my cock. I’ll make you mine, girl. I will claim every inch of that sweet little cunt.” As if to prove his point, he pushes his fingers in deeper, thumb brushing over my clit, making me buck my hips involuntarily. “You really want me to fuck you, hmm? I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna forget you ever met that asshole.”

“Fuck,” I whimper, “I didn’t want him, I only want you. Please, please fuck me. Please, Geralt!”

With a low growl, the Witcher withdraws his fingers from my core, leaving an aching void behind, clenching to be filled with him again.

“You want me to fuck you? You want me to fill that little pussy with my cock? Hmm?” he keeps repeating in a growl, taunting me while sucking and nipping on my neck, marking me as his own for everyone to see.

“Please,” I manage to whine – any word more would have been an incoherent babble.

“You know…” the Witcher muses darkly behind my back, taking a step back from the table, leaving me cold and naked to his display, “I really should punish you, make you wait and beg for me to give you want. After that little stunt you pulled there, you don’t deserve to be given what you want right away. Don’t you agree, girl? Hm?”

I am way past the point of forming a coherent sentence, and he knows it, so when I let out a weak whimper, Geralt only chuckles.

“Use your words, darling. I have no problem finishing myself off to that view, but personally, I would prefer coming in that sweet pussy of yours. So better start doing what you’re told.” His voice so much huskier when he speaks the last sentence.

I let out a gasp when his hand makes contact with my folds again, gathering my juices. The next thing heard in the room is the wet sound of the Witcher stroking himself – shaft coated in my essence – accompanied with his low groan of satisfaction.

I’m trembling, aching for him, reduced to a dripping, boneless being, just from his words, struggling to get out ones of my own, so I whine. The sounds coming from behind me have my arousal running down my thighs in rivers, but as much as I want to, I. CANNOT. GIVE. HIM. WHAT. HE WANTS.

As if wanting to make things even harder for me, Geralt takes a step forwards, just enough for the tip of his member to brush against my petals.

Funnily, this little act makes me find my voice again.

“Fuck,” I sob as I push my hips back, urging – or more like trying to urge – him to finally push into me, fill me to the brim. But at my desperate bucking, he only ticks his tongue and lands another harsh spank on my butt.

“Remember what I told you.” The Witcher’s breath tickles the skin on my neck, the little hairs standing alert, as he leans down yet again, lips brushing the shell of my ear and coarse hair scratching my back. “Hold still and better start begging.” He strokes the head of his cock up and down my slit, never pushing in and always stopping just before he touches my throbbing pearl, making me clench around nothing.

It’s torture, hearing him groan, having him touch me, but never enough to provide pleasure. Minutes pass, feeling like hours, before I get out words again. My mouth is dry from panting, making it so much harder to speak. As if a clouded brain doesn’t make it hard enough already.

“Shit, Geralt please!” I whine, writing against the table.

“What do you want, kitten? Hm?” he coos mockingly, just to tease me even more.

“Fuck me! Oh, shit! Please fuck me! I need you! Shit, please!”

My string of pathetic babbling is rewarded. Torturously slow, Geralt starts to push in, grabbing my hips tightly to hold me still against the table as he sheathes himself into me with a long, satisfied groan. A high-pitched moan escapes my lips as his vast size stretches me out farther than I have ever been before. The burn sends a delicious tingling through my core and my walls clench around this pulsing length, trying to suck him in deeper. Oh, being so full of him feels like heaven. So much that I let out a deep sigh, feeling complete now after months of longing, finally engulfed in his warmth while he’s engulfed in mine.

At the sound that leaves my body, the Witcher chuckles. “Aww,” he coos, “Kitten, I’ll make you scream. I’ll make you mine, and I’m gonna make damn sure everybody knows that.”

With these words, Geralt pulls his hips back, until only the tip remains ghosting at my entrance. Then he slams in with one rapid movement, bottoming out in seconds. The air is punched from my lungs as he repeats the action over and over again, iron grip holding my hips still.

If my skin won’t be all kinds of blue and purple tomorrow, I’ll be disappointed.

With every snap of his hips, I’m pushed farther against the table, its legs soon screeching as they slide over the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, at a fast pace.

But neither of us cares. The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of my drenched walls, skin slapping against skin and our loud moans and groans drown out all other sounds – to our ears. From the outside of our room, it must sound like pure sin.

Fuck! I’ve waited so long for this, imagined what he would feel like during sleepless nights in the privacy of an own room, when the coin sufficed. Now, I almost can’t comprehend what he’s doing. All I know is how it hurts so deliciously when he bumps into my cervix with every rough thrust, grunting like a deprived animal behind me.

And I scream for him, plead him to don’t stop, never stop, that I’m his and that he feels so fucking good. I’m sure the whole inn can hear me, but I don’t care, not now and I won’t later.

Heat pools in my belly, a burning coil threatening to snap any moment. I clench around Geralt’s cock, wordlessly warning him of my nearing high, whimpering when he tightens his grip on my hips even more, pulling me back and forth to meet his every thrust, only to pull out the moment my body begins to tingle with the dawning of my orgasm.

I whine, bereft of his warmth and fullness, feeling small and incomplete. But only for a second.

The room blurs around me and before I know it, my back hits the soft mattress, the beast hovering above me with lust-blown pupils and gaping lips, hungry to teste the honey on my skin.

“I want to see your face when I make you cum,” he growls, “I want you to see who makes you feel this good.”

Fuck! Who would have thought the quiet Witcher had a dirty mouth like that?

Now finally able to touch him, I reach for the back of his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair and pulling him down to me, and slam my lips on his before he can object. But he doesn’t even try. He nips and sucks on my bottom lip until I part them with a gasp, inviting him to invade my warm cavern with harsh licks. I don’t even try to fight his tongue, only let him slide and suck on mine, letting him claim me.

We are so caught up in our kiss that, for a moment, we forget about of throbbing organs, but when we pull back from each, the needs hits both of us with full force.

Faces hovering only inches apart, breath fanning over each other’s skin as we breath heavily through gaping lips. This is by far the most intimate moment we had so far, and it is interrupted by my sharp gasp as Geralt enters me again, swallowing my cry when he rams into my cervix, my fingers tugging on his silvery strands.

With a feral grunt, the Witcher hikes my leg up to his ribcage, making him reach even deeper into my core.

The cries that leave my lungs can’t even be muffled by his lips on mine anymore, his name and various curses spilling from me into him, unhindered, pulling grunted responses from the beast above me.

Not long before the heat starts to spread again, making my muscles stiffen and writhe beneath him, clenching tightly around his cock. A whimper leaves my lips when Geralt sits up and adjusts my legs around his waist, so he can watch himself slide in and out of my tight slit, his shaft glistening with my juices.

“Geralt, I-I’m – ah!” I warn, or try to warn him.

Tearing his eyes from where our bodies are joint to set them on my face, his face twists when he sees the look on mine; mouth hanging open, half-lidded eyes peering up at him with difficulty to stay open with how close to the edge I am.

I recognize that look; he’s holding back. He has been rough with me, for sure, but he’s trying to stop himself from wrecking me completely. He knows how easily he could seriously hurt me with his strength. But that is what I want. I want him to wreck me.

Now he stops his movement.

With a little difficulty to reach him, I put my hand on his cheek reassuringly, the other gripping his forearm.

“Don’t do that,” I whisper, “Don’t,” I pause, swallowing thickly and release a gasping breath, “Don’t hold back. Give me everything you have. Please, please make me your little whore. Fuck!” with every word, my voice rises in pitch, only for it to turn into an even higher pitched moan when he starts moving again, at a pace that has my mouth handing open in a silent scream. With feral grunts that match his beast-like reputation, he rams into me, finally letting go of the last bits of caution.

And how he has me scream for him afterwards, clenching tightly around him with the nearing of my orgasm, completely unhindered this time.

My hand slips from his cheek to his shoulder, nails digging into the hard muscle, clinging onto Geralt for dear life as he drills into me without mercy, reaching deeper than ever before.

Stars start to dance in front of my eyes as heat spreads through my body, limbs trembling. I feel him twitch inside me while my walls clamp down on him tightly. A few hard thrusts later, the coil in my belly explodes into a white-hot flame, that sends fire through my writing body. I come with a scream of the Witcher’s name. my eyes roll back to the intensity of my high, blisses out and lost in my pleasure, that I almost don’t hear the strangled cry of my name that leaves Geralt’s lips when he spills himself deep into me.

The feeling of his hot seed filling my core makes me moan in delight, the warm liquid soothing the rawness he left behind, while he’s still rocking into me, riding us both through our highs, my quaking walls milking him for all he’s got.

With a gasping breath, I open my eyes to find Geralt staring down at me in awe. I smile at him, high on bliss, and prop myself on my elbows, smashing my lips against his in a lazy kiss.

Loosening his grip on my hips, Geralt lets his hands slide up to my waist, slowly turning to lie on his back, my small body draped over his large one, gently pulling his member from my battered hole in the process.

He just holds me close for a moment, allowing us to catch our breath and our hearts to slow to their usual pace.

I sigh softly at the feeling of our mixed juices dripping out of me onto his thigh, giggling at the confused look he shoots me.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this to happen,” I mumble, nuzzling up into the crook of his neck, kissing every patch of skin I can reach.

“So you’re not sorry about letting this fuckhead touch you like that?” Geralt asks, playfully, but with a stern edge to his voice.

“Nope,” I giggle, earning a light slap to my butt, “It was what made you act, after all.” I shrug. “If I hadn’t let him touch me, this-” I gesture between us “- wouldn’t have happened.” My hand reaches up to cup his jaw and I prop myself up so I can look at him. “So how could I be sorry for that?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. He just smiles softly and cups the side of my head with his large palm, bringing my face to his, where he captures my lips with his own in a lazy kiss, losing all sense of time.

When we finally part, I snuggle up close to him, closing my eyes and yawning in exhaustion, just revelling in his warmth. With a low chuckle, Geralt covers us up with the blanket and presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

I’m already fast asleep. And as I lie there, sleeping on his chest, I don’t realize Geralt watching me and how the dying firelight catches in my features, inwardly cursing himself for not making a move earlier, that it had taken another man threatening to take me away from him to finally act. He cursed himself for thinking making me his would put me in danger, and thus pushing me away. Hell, I had been living a dangerous life even before I had met him.

But he had acted now. He had claimed me, marked me as his own. No one would could take me away from me now.

Holding me in a protective embrace, the Witcher falls into a deep slumber, sleeping better than he had in ages.


End file.
